How Do I Live Without You?
by NCCJFAN
Summary: The aftermath of Booth's "death" leaves Bones feeling betrayed, despite the fact that it caught a killer. It's going to take sometime for her to figure out her reactions and herself.
1. Too Fast

It all happened too fast

**A couple of things you should know. First, I haven't written solo in a while now. Second, this is my first Bones solo fanfiction. I've written a lot of Crossing Jordan fanfic, and this is my first attempt at another show. So reviews (especially those with constructive criticism) are nice.**

**And I don't own anything Bones related, except the season one and two DVDs. It all belongs to Fox, Hart Hanson, and Kathy Reich. **

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* * *

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It all happened too fast. Too fast for even her rational, logical mind to process in the long run. Pam. The Checker Box. Booth getting shot. Booth dying. Booth's funeral. Booth's resurrection.

And then there was Gormagon. No, not just Gormagon. Gormagon's _Apprentice_.

Zach.

But mainly, there was _Booth_. He didn't betray her. Not really. He was just doing his job. He and the FBI took advantage of the situation to weed out a killer. Get rid of one more scumbag on the face of the earth before he had another chance to hurt anyone else. And give Booth one more chance to even out his cosmic balance sheet between extinguishing life and saving life.

At what cost, though? Although Booth hadn't exactly betrayed her, he set the wheels in motion for that betrayal. It was Sweets' act of omission that had directly done the damage.

_Still…_ Temperance thought, _still…Booth should have found a way to tell me himself. I mean, how much effort could it have taken? A text, an e-mail…a midnight visit to my place?_

Rationally, her brain accepted his reasoning. Booth couldn't be held responsible for Sweets' actions, or rather inactions. And using the agent's faked death to flush out a criminal _was_ a good idea. But the emotional side of her brain – the side that kept making itself known louder and louder these past two weeks – had yet to forgive him. Booth or Sweets for that matter. Despite the excuses that Booth and Sweets both had made to her, it all still settled like sawdust in her mouth.

Dry and bitter.

Temperance slammed her suitcase shut with a satisfied grunt. Her agent had been after her to take some time off to plan out her next book, to relax and come up with a plot. Now seemed as good a time as any. If she was to continue to function as Booth's partner, if she was to continue her work as the world's best forensic anthropologist, if she was maintain her status as a best-selling author, she needed to compartmentalize once again.

She just couldn't do it while having to look at Booth every day.

* * *

He had been back among the living for two weeks now, and she had yet to really talk to him. Oh sure, cases, yeah. She'd discourse on them in squint-speak for hours. Time of death, cause of death, method of death – Bones would spout fact, figures, and logic for hours.

But discuss Zach? No way. She'd change the subject in the proverbial heartbeat. Despite the fact that there was now a gaping hole in the squint squad, Bones seemed to be determined to look the other way. What was it Sweets said she was good at?

_Compartmentalizing_, Booth's brain prompted. Oh yeah, that. Compartmentalizing. Putting different aspects of her life in different places so they don't bother each other. Like putting different pairs of shoes in different shoeboxes, only pulling out the pair she needed to go with the outfit she was wearing that day.

Compartmentalizing. _Not dealing with her feelings is what it is_, Booth thought, as he sat behind the desk in his office, pretending to do paperwork. Paperwork that wasn't getting done because his thoughts kept drifting back to his partner and her apparent inability to deal with her emotions. _Okay, maybe not inability, but she definitely doesn't want to talk to me about them._

Booth had his qualms about psychology. Like Bones, he agreed that it was a "soft science" or maybe it was just a damned nuisance. But ever since the chain of events was put into play beginnng with the Checker Box, she hadn't been herself. He saw her face at his funeral. While standing in the line to give the 21-gun salute, he watched her. Her fidgeting. Ever fiber of her body screaming out that she didn't want to be there. She would much rather be at the lab, letting herself get lost in her work than be there dealing with the fact that he was "dead." For a woman that continuously stated she was logical and rational, it was the second time he had seen her have problems dealing with reality. The first time was after Christine Brennan's remains had been found at the Jeffersonian and Bones had to question who she really was and how much of her history was real and how much of it was fiction.

Wadding up the piece of paper he had been doodling on, Booth shot it towards the trashcan. He had inadvertently put her back in that same position. He had rocked her world with a lie – even though it was done for a good cause. He had faked his death, betrayed her trust, and walked out of her life just like so many other people had done.

The paper wad hit the rim of the trashcan and bounced in with a satisfying thud.

And he had no doubt that the fall out of those actions was just beginning.

* * *

"Can I talk to you a minute?"

Tearing her eyes away from the notes she was going over concerning her last autopsy, Cam glanced up to see Dr. Temperance Brennan standing in the office doorway.

"Dr. Brennan. Sure."

Social settings were not Brennan's strong point. Neither were office politics. While she and Cam would probably never have the same relationship that she and Angela had, Temperance had developed a healthy respect for her boss, despite the fact that her partner and Cam once had a sexual relationship.

And somewhere, Temperance's and Cam's relationship was rolled into both a social and office political one, making this doubly uncomfortable. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and slightly rolling her shoulders, Temperance hesitantly entered Cam's office.

"I need to ask you something," she began.

"If it's about Zach's replacement, I haven't made a dec…"

"It's not about that," Temperance interrupted abruptly. She clinched her hands into tight fists in her lab coat's pockets. "I need some time off."

Cam put down her notes and let her eyes wander over Dr. Brennan, noting her pinched face and carefully controlled features. The last month had been hard on them all, but probably hardest on Temperance. Yes, at one time, Cam and Booth had been close – that was common knowledge. But any thought of anything permanent had been quashed as soon as Cam noticed how Booth looked at Brennan.

And how Brennan looked at him. There was no doubt in Cam's mind that Temperance had been hurt over Booth's faked death. During the two weeks he had been gone, she had watched the forensic anthropologist struggle against her emotions and bury herself in her work.

Then there was the matter of Zach, who had been Brennan's protégé but ended up being Gormagon's Apprentice. No doubt the woman had been dealt a double whammy of the most emotional kind.

"How much?"

Temperance let her eyes flicker over her boss's face. Cam wasn't defensive. Instead, if she was reading Cam correctly, the woman's face was sympathetic. "I was thinking about two weeks, but I'd like longer if possible."

"An extended leave of absence, maybe?"

Temperance nodded.

"How does a month sound?" Cam asked, pulling the paperwork from a folder in her file drawer.

"It wouldn't back things up here?" Despite her roiling emotional state, Temperance's job always came first.

"Not too badly. We've got some grad students that are willing and eager. And if anything major comes up, I can give you a call?" The last statement was more of a question.

Temperance nodded and took the forms from Cam's outstretched hand. Thirty days should do it. It would allow her time and distance to get her head together

And her emotions in check.


	2. Thirty Days Hath September

**Chapter Two**

**Thirty Days Hath September**…

"It's only for a month, Angela." Temperance Brennan stood, for the moment, towering above her friend who was seated at her desk.

"It's _thirty_ days," Angela replied, as if quantifying the number would make her friend see just how long she was going to be gone.

"I'm aware that some months have thirty days. Thirty days hath September -- "

"April, June, and November," Angela finished, interrupting her.

"So one third of the months have thirty days," Temperance shrugged. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Standing and walking over to where Temperance was now observing Angela's latest sketch, the artist placed a gentle hand on Brennan's arm. "All I'm saying is…thirty days is a long time, Sweetie. Given what we've all just been through, I would think you'd want to stay closer to home." _Closer to Booth. You just about lost him, Bren. What if next time it's no FBI ruse?_

Temperance shook her head at Angela's words. Staying close to home was not an option she wanted to consider now. She looked around Angela's office and blinked. The walls…the walls were closing in on her here. There was too much of the past interfering in the present. Every time she was on the platform she could hear Zach and Hodgins arguing. What was it? King of the Lab. That was it. Brennan let out a sound that was a cross between a sob and a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I can't, Angela. I can't stay. At least not now. I've got to get away for a while…to get my head screwed back on straight."

"Your head? On straight?" Angela could imagine many things about Temperance, but it would take a stretch for her to think that Brennan's head wasn't ever not screwed on straight. She shook her own head at the thought. Maybe Tempe was a lot more emotional than anyone realized.

The moment of silence lengthened. "This…" Brennan began and then stopped, surprised at the catch that was in her throat. She swallowed it and began again. "This…whole…thing. This whole thing has been so hard," she finished in a rush. "Booth…Zach…It's like everything I held true…believed in…it's all gone. Zach, the one person who was as logical and rational as I am, is a killer. And Booth…" The catch caught her voice again.

"Booth kind of lied to you, didn't he?" Angela finished.

Temperance nodded numbly. Quite honestly, if asked to weigh the two, Booth's deception was worse than Zach's criminal acts.

"It's becoming harder to separate the two, isn't it?" the artist asked, her eyes trained on Brennan's face, waiting for something…anything to give the answer away.

"No…not really. Booth lied. Zach murdered…"

"That's not what I mean, Sweetie." Angela reached out and took her friends hands in her own. "What I mean is, it's becoming harder for you to separate your personal feelings for Booth from your professional ones."

"Angela, we're _partners_. Partners are supposed to care about each other – "

"Partners don't kiss each other under the mistletoe. One partner doesn't sleep on the couch in her office for two weeks on end because her apartment holds too many memories of the other partner when he's gone. And that same partner doesn't slug the daylights out of the other partner when he returns from the dead because she's so pissed off and hurt she can't see straight," Angela interrupted, looking Brennan straight in the eyes. "Do they?"

Temperance lowered her eyes at Angela's more than astute observations. "I don't know," she hedged.

"Well I can tell you they don't. And what I'm telling you now is that yes, you're hurt. But I think Booth is, too. I think he's hurt that even though you accepted the reasoning behind Sweets not telling you exactly what was going on, and even though you realize that it's not Booth's fault that Sweets didn't do what he was asked to do, you still blame your knight in shining FBI-issued armor for what you're feeling."

"He could have found some way to tell me himself, Angela."

"Have you discussed this with him?"

Temperance nodded, hoping the artist wouldn't notice the flush in her cheeks. She readily admitted that she had talked the matter over with Booth.

What she didn't tell Angela was that it was while he was naked in the bathtub with only that asinine beer cap on his head.

"And you didn't accept his reason behind not getting in touch with you personally?" Angela continued.

"Er, no. Not really." Temperance turned away from her friend and headed towards the door of the office. "I've got to get away from all this…these…feelings for a while, Angela."

"And thirty days will do it?"

"It should." Brennan gave her friend a weak grin before exiting the office. "I'll call you when I get there."

"You do that, Sweetie," Angela called after her, as Temperance was already striding down the hallway. "You do that…because I have a feeling that those emotions are going to follow you wherever you're going.

"And be here when you get back."

* * *

The next two stops she had to make were what Temperance considered "courtesy" stops. One to Dr. Sweets' office and the other to Deputy Director Cullen. Sweets would need to know why she wasn't in therapy for the next four weeks and Cullen…well, even though she wasn't an FBI agent, she did work with the agency. He deserved to know.

The walk to Sweets office was a quick one and the message delivery was relatively painless. He wasn't in. Temperance left a written note with his secretary, explaining simply that she had taken a short leave of absence at her editor's request to plan out her next book. Cam had approved the thirty day leave and if the young psychologist had any questions, he could talk to Cam.

The next notification took a little longer. Cullen was in his office, but was busy at the moment, leaving Temperance nothing to do but sit on his couch in the waiting room and fidget for ten minutes. And then Cullen's reaction was everything Temperance figured it would be.

"_Thirty days?"_ his voice rose at the notion.

Brennan nodded, determined not to be intimated. "Thirty days. It's been approved…"

"Have you seen our case load lately?" Cullen interrupted. Booth had been "dead" for only two weeks, but that had done nothing to slow the number of cases crossing their desks.

"I'm sorry, but…"

"You're _sorry? _What are we supposed to do while you're sitting on the beach for thirty days?"

"I'm not going to…" she began, but was instantly interrupted again.

"Thirty days. Thirty. Whole. Days. One of your cases could go to court and you won't be here."

"But there's nothing on the court schedule that would concern me…"

"You don't know what might happen in that length of time," he broke in again.

"I assure you, sir, I will be available by phone…"

"But that's not the same. What is Booth supposed to do without you for _thirty days_?" The deputy director's voice rose and carried…right out to the waiting room.

"Do without Bones? For thirty days?" Booth's voice interrupted the argument.

Temperance turned at looked at where the voice had come from. Evidently Booth had entered the waiting room at some point during her and Cullen's argument.

And she had no idea how much he had heard.

"Thirty days, Bones? Why?"


	3. It's Your Funeral

**Chapter Three**

**It's Your Funeral**

Sun. Sand. Lifeguards.

Temperance lay back down on her towel, the sounds of crashing waves and the cry of water fowls filling her ears. It was all perfect. The water was warm, the sun was hot, the drinks were cold, and the lifeguards were well-proportioned.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Too perfect.

She caught herself grimacing at her thoughts. When her editor, Laure, told her to get away and plan her next novel, Temperance had taken advantage of circumstances and for once, did what Laure suggested. Temperance called a travel agent and booked a flight for Barbados, choosing to stay at a relatively sheltered conclave in a house rather than opt for one of those tourist trap resort hotels.

It was all well and good and wonderful.

Too wonderful. With her next novel now completely planned out (complete with more steamy love scenes between Kathy and Andy, per Laure's request), Temperance was now "hanging loose" – a term she thought she had heard Angela use. Or was it "hanging out"? She shook her head. She really wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had two more weeks of being here in the surf, the sand, and the sun.

Alone and bored to tears. She was beginning to think that nonworking vacations were seriously overrated. Picking up her SPF 45 sunscreen, she reapplied it to her arms and legs, realizing that _this_ was the highlight of her last two hours.

Applying sunscreen.

Temperance sighed and pulled a magazine out of her beach bag. She was a forensic anthropologist. She had more fun than this just going for coffee with Booth.

Booth. As hard as she had tried, as much as she had tried, no amount of effort on her part kept him from her thoughts for very long. And as far as trying to compartmentalize her feelings for him again, well that was the one thing on her to do list that she hadn't been able to accomplish. The man was just proving too big to fit into any compartment. He filled her thoughts.

And overflowed her heart. No matter how hard she had tried to rationalize the lie that was told to her, and the reasoning behind it, she couldn't wipe away the hurt. For two weeks after his "death," she had grieved, albeit privately. But just because her grief was private didn't mean that the emotions weren't deep and real. The tissues that had filled her bathroom trashcan bore witness to that.

But she had two more weeks to figure it out. Resolutely, Temperance turned over on her stomach and opened her forensic journal, determined to relax on the beach for the rest of the morning before she went back to her beach house to shower before lunch. The afternoon schedule included a nap and maybe some souvenir shopping.

And one more humongous attempt at compartmentalizing her feelings for a man that wouldn't fit into a box.

* * *

Slap.

Booth swatted at the fly that seemed to be determined to eat a hole in his neck, all the while squatting by the set of remains that had flushed him out of his office and back into the field.

The call came in shortly before ten. Skeletal remains found while construction workers were clearing building lots for another cookie cutter housing development just outside of Washington. Booth had gone to confirm it.

More bones, more remains, more unanswered questions. This hadn't been his first new case since Bones had left on her thirty day "leave of absence." There had been another one, but since those remains had contained more tissue, Cam had claimed it as her territory and took over that end of the forensic investigation.

But this…this…was skeletal remains. And while Booth couldn't tell if this was male or female, young or old, he did know they were _bones_. Bones that would require the probing and prodding of a forensic anthropologist.

Booth sighed and slapped the dive-bombing fly once again. She had told him why. Why she had left. After his unwitting eavesdropping in Cullen's office, Bones had told him about her leave of absence. Her editor's request that she plan out her next book and take her characters into new territories they had never visited and she had never written.

She was owed the leave time. Cam had given it.

And Booth had read between the lines. Bones needed to get away. To rationalize and logically deal with what Zach had done. To try to understand the why behind the young man's actions that she knew all to well the how of.

What was left unspoken, but loudly understood, were her issues with Booth's own deception to her. Temperance had been lied to for a good chunk of her life. Booth had added to that hurt and deceit. It only slightly helped matters that it wasn't his idea. It didn't help matters at all that somewhere along the way, Bones had decided that he could have somehow gotten in touch with her himself and let her know that he was faking death.

But he hadn't. He had left the entire notification list in Sweets' hands. And that rat bastard had pulled a sucker punch on both of them when the young psychologist decided that Temperance could compartmentalize well and would suffer no harm if she wasn't notified.

A lot of fucking good a psychology degree did you. A lot of good it had done them.

The fly scored and drew blood this time. Booth slapped at it again, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket at the same time. God, he didn't want to do this. Gritting his teeth and now scratching the bite on the back of his neck, he punched in Cam's number at the Jeffersonian.

"We have a body," he said as soon as Cam identified himself.

"I'll be right out."

"No need. It's skeletal. I need… I need…" Booth swallowed. Who was it now? Zach was institutionalized and Bones was sunning her buns somewhere.

"You need the new guy," Cam replied, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"New guy? Can't you just send Hodgins?" Hell, at this point, he'd settle for Angela, even though the artist would ride him about the exact _why_ behind the reasoning of Bones' departure.

"Hodgins is the slime and bug guy. He's not a trained forensic anthropologist."

Another sigh. "I don't have time for a new guy. It was hard enough training Bones in the fine art of field work. I don't need a green forensic anthropologist running around out here compromising evidence."

"Then what _do_ you want?" The smile was out of Cam's voice, replaced with a hint of irritation.

_I want Bones._ Booth cleared his throat. "There's no one else you can send?"

"Well there is the maintenance man."

He bit back a retort. "I'm serious here, Cam."

"I am, too. I can send the new guy. Other than that, you're SOL."

There was a beat of dead air as they both knew Booth was considering his options.

Cam took it on herself to fill the space. "You can't be thinking..."

"About what?"

A frustrated sigh filled his ears. "It's your funeral, Booth. And this time, it'll be for real."


	4. When the Devil Comes Calling

****

Chapter Four

**When the Devil Comes Calling**

Were all the necklaces in Barbados constructed of nothing but shells? Temperance grimaced and let the string of seashells and hemp fall from her fingers, all the while deciding that souvenir shopping was seriously overrated. Aside from tacky t-shirts, shell necklaces, silly hats, and beer can covers, she had found nothing she wanted to take home to her friends. She shifted her bag to the other shoulder and adjusted her sun glasses. While Barbados was white beaches and blue water, it wasn't everything the travel brochures and web sites promised – the shopping wasn't spectacular, the prices weren't reasonable, and anthropologically speaking, she found the native customs lacking. And while the fishing may be great, she didn't know the tip of a fishing rod from the reel, much less if the snapper were biting and what they were biting on.

It was ridiculous, really. Totally ridiculous that she was wiling away two more weeks in a place that had lost its charm 48 hours after her plane had touched down. Normally, she would have already booked her return flight by now and been back at the Jeffersonian either examining bones from limbo or working on a case with Booth.

Booth. There was the five letter word that had kept her in Barbados this long and likely would keep her there for the remaining two weeks trying to figure out how to stuff her emotions about him back into compartments that were way too small for how much she felt.

She had tried to reason it out. He had to pretend he was dead to flush out a killer. The killer had been brought down and now Booth was no longer dead. A victory for the good guys that in her mind were wearing gray hats. Yes, Booth did the right thing. But no, he didn't either. No matter how often she replayed the entire situation in her mind, she kept coming back to one point: No matter what Booth said about Sweets' inaction, Booth could have, should have found a way to tell her he was alive himself.

And he didn't.

And she still didn't know what to make of that. Why did that make her so angry? Was she hurt? Did she feel abandoned? Did she feel conned?

Yes. Yes. And yes. She felt deceived, hence she was angry. She hated being lied to. Yet, in a strange way, she understood. She knew he had tried to let her know that he was fine, and Sweets was the one who made the decision not to tell her because she could compartmentalize so well.

"Can I help you?" A young saleswoman's voice cut through the fog of her thoughts.

"What?"

"Can I help you? You've been looking at those necklaces for a few minutes. Can I take one out to show you? We have the matching earrings, too."

Temperance shook her head. "No. I'm just looking…"

The saleswoman shrugged lightly. "Let me know if I can help you."

"Help me?" Temperance muttered under her breath. "Only if you have a box big enough to put a tall FBI agent in."

* * *

Flip.

The poker chip sailed through the air, turning over and over before landing in his palm. Booth rolled it over his fingers and flipped it again.

Decisions, decisions.

The chip landed in his hand again and this time he held it still, regarding the blue piece of plastic with solemn contemplation.

He could _not_ call her. He could suck it up and deal with new guy. And in a way, that was the practical decision. The new guy had to get field experience some day. Maybe that day was now. Maybe this was the ideal time to expose someone to the way the FBI expected field work to be done, without Bones' critical eyes looking on. Train the new guy fresh, without any preconceived ideas, complements of Temperance Brennan. Maybe that was the way he _should_ do it.

Flip.

Or not.

Training someone by himself would be arduous and long. Every detail would have to be gone over. Every moot point re-emphasized. Booth wasn't sure he had the patience to do that again. Training Bones had nearly been the death of him. He wasn't sure he could do it again.

He was pretty sure he didn't want to.

Flip.

Or he could call her. The poker chip danced on the end of his fingers as he caught it and seriously regarded the piece of plastic again.

He could push aside any hesitation and simply call her. After all she told Cullen that she would be available by phone – even if she meant only for court cases. These bones may become a court case.

And who's to say these bones aren't the remains of someone who had been murdered by some serial killer who got off burying their victims at construction sites? Okay, so they hadn't recovered anymore remains at construction sites. Maybe this set of bones was the first victim. Who's to say there weren't at least a dozen similar victims out there? Bones would want a piece of that. She'd want to catch a killer. She would. He knew she would. But she wouldn't be able to do that wherever she was at.

Flip.

Call her or not? His eyes followed the poker chip on its downward flight until it landed in his hand and he examined it one more time.

"That's what I thought." Booth shoved it in his pocket and hit one on speed dial all at the same time.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to cast a haze over the horizon as it began to set. The water was still just as blue as it was this morning and the sand was just as warm and white.

And Temperance was still slightly flustered from her shopping trip. Three hours. She had looked for three hours and all she came away with was an ankle bracelet for Angela and a necklace for Cam. She was still shooting zero when it came to Jack. If she hadn't found anything remotely acceptable by the end of the week, she'd go for the cheesy t-shirts.

Walking on the beach at the end of the day, she found a spot that gave an admirable view of the ocean and sat down in the sand. _Funny_, she thought, _how people go away to try to 'get away from it all' and 'it' follows them to wherever they're at_. She was no closer today than she was a month ago about sorting her feelings out for Seely Booth. She was still not quite sure what she felt, much less why she felt it.

And as far as compartmentalizing? God, she wished she could. But she was quickly discovering just what messy things emotions could be. They were things that had arms and tentacles that wrapped around your brain and tugged at your heart, refusing to fit neatly in a box that you could put a lid on. But she still had time to figure it out. Maybe…

A soft buzzing brought her out of her thoughts. Her cell phone, on vibrate, was going off in the pocket of her shorts. Thinking it was Angela checking in, Temperance didn't even bother to check the caller ID before she flipped it open.

"Brennan."

"Bones."

Speak of the devil…


	5. Flights of Fancy

**Chapter Five**

**Flights of Fancy**

The plane leveled off and Temperance unbuckled her seatbelt and gazed out the window for a long moment.

So there was a body. In a construction site.

Even to her non-FBI type ears, it all sounded cut and dried. Bones uncovered by workers at a building site. Cam had told her there was no apparent sign of trauma to the remains.

_Apparent_. That was the key word.

And that was the word that Booth had taken in hand and twisted until it unlocked her curiosity. Their telephone conversation played out again in her mind.

"_So you're calling me because some workers found skeletal remains at a construction site?"_ she had asked.

"_Yeah."_

"_But you just told me that Cam said nothing looked out of the ordinary…"_

He had cleared his throat. _"Well, that's what she says. But she's just an ME, Bones. You're the anthropologist. Those bones could have been there for hundreds of years."_

"_But you just said the remains looked recent…"_

"_I said 'apparently' that's how they looked. What if they're not?"_

"_I think you know enough by now to be able to tell if the remains were recent or ancient, Booth."_

A hiccup of silence.

"_So what if this is the work of a serial killer?"_

She had switched her phone to the other ear as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet, opened it, and began throwing her things in. _"Have you discovered anymore remains in the same location? In the same condition?"_

"_Well…no. But that doesn't mean there aren't more out there."_

Temperance booted her laptop to the travel site she had used to get to Barbados. There had to be a return flight out tonight…_"How do you know there are more out there?"_

"_How do you know they're not?"_

There was a pause on her end as she changed her flight plans and confirmed her new reservation. A double-click of the mouse and it was done. _"But Cam said nothing looked out of the ordinary in these remains…why should I cancel the rest of my vacation and come back early?"_

"_Again with 'apparently', Bones. 'Apparently' nothing is out of the ordinary with these remains."_

"_Well, if there's 'apparently' nothing out of the ordinary, let the new guy take it. He needs the field experience."_

She could hear Booth mentally counting to ten and praying for patience before he replied. _"Because if there is anything hinky about these bones, I only want you to be on the case."_

She turned her laptop off and slid it into its travel bag. _"I'll have to see what I can do. I may not be able to catch a flight out before tomorrow."_

She could have sworn she heard his breath catch in the back of his throat then. _"Call me and let me know when to pick you up at Dulles."_

"_I will. But it might be awhile."_

"_No problem. And one more thing, Bones…"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Thanks."_

Temperance had smiled before she flipped her phone shut and checked the time. She had a half an hour to check out at the real estate office and make it to the airport.

* * *

Booth warily checked the bank of clocks at Dulles one more time. If he had been a betting man, which he wasn't any longer, he would have placed good money on the fact that time was literally standing still in Washington, DC.

Literally standing still. Because it hadn't moved forwards or backwards since the last time he had checked the flight schedules. And that had to be…oh…he looked again.

Five seconds ago.

He groaned and ran a tired hand down a tired face. According to Hodges, who was as handy with a computer as he was with bugs and slime, Brennan had the early evening flight out of Barbados, but then had a three hour layover in Miami. Then the three hour layover had turned into five hours as engine problems cropped up in the flight before hers. At that point in time, Booth wondered out loud about the merits of driving to Miami and picking her up.

"Forget it, G-man," Angela had told him. "She'd be back here nearly ten hours before your car crossed the Miami city limits. Besides," she smirked, "what's the rush?"

Angela was spending too much time with Hodges, Booth had decided. Her smirk was taking on Jackonian proportions. "Nothing," he hedged. "I just want her to look over this case.

"Want her to look over your case or just want her?" Angela had taunted back.

That confirmed it. Angela and Hodges were now evil twins. "Professionally, Angela," he had calmly replied. "You know me – pro-fes- si-on-al." Every syllable emphasized.

"I do know you, and if that's what they're calling it nowadays, more power to you."

Booth made a mental note to question Cam about the wisdom of letting two fellow Jeffersonian employees date. No scratch that. Hodges family was the reason the squints had so many cool gadgets. If Jack decided to take his toys and go home…Booth shook his head. That would not be good. Good-bye FBI/Jeffersonian partnership and good-bye Bones.

A week was bad enough. He knew he couldn't take any longer of a separation. He had snapped his mouth shut and returned to his office to begin an hourly countdown for her plane. But at least now he was at the ten-mark, as his large frame was wedged into those too-small-and-hopelessly-uncomfortable plastic seats in the waiting area. He would wait and wave his badge at the last minute to gain entrance in the restricted area at her gate's entrance.

Nine. The flight schedule now said her plane had boarded and was en route. Booth struggled out of his seat and walked to the coffee kiosk for a caffeine and sugar jolt.

Eight. The flight was on time and expected to arrive at Dulles in 45 minutes.

Seven. The weather was cooperating.

Six. The plane was approaching…

Five. The landing gear was down…

Four. The wheels hit the tarmac with a screech.

Three. The plane was at the gate…Booth flashed his badge and the airline workers let him in the restricted area without question

Two. The passengers were disembarking.

One. There she was. Booth casually leaned against the wall and watched her trudge down the passageway, pulling her laptop travel case behind her and her carry-on slung over one shoulder. He shot his coffee cup in the trash can as he reached for her suitcase. "Bones…you're here already? Gee…I didn't expect you so quick."


	6. Trickery, Deception, and Lies

**Chapter Six**

**Unanswered Questions**

**Thanks to Miss Katie for her suggestion about the new guy…**

Duped.

Temperance Brennan looked unseeingly out the window of her office, palms pressed against the windowsill as she leaned her head against the cool glass.

He had lied to her again.

Yes, there had been human remains. Yes, it was at a construction site. But that was about all the truth in the matter.

No, the bones weren't ancient. They were probably only a few years old.

And no, it wasn't the work of a serial killer. There were no tool marks on the bones – no blade marks, nothing that would indicate the victim, whoever he was, had been stabbed or otherwise fatally injured.

Just a fractured skull. And not a fracture caused by blunt force trauma. No. The injury was concurrent with the new guy's theory – at one time the construction site was rough terrain, overgrown with weeds and scrub brush. Desolate. Unattended. More than likely whoever it was took a tumble, hit his head, and died there. And since the remains matched none of the missing persons reports, chances are the bones on her exam table belonged to one of the hundreds of homeless or mentally ill of Washington, DC's population.

Temperance sighed.

Duped. She had been fooled again by Booth. The new guy, despite his inexperience, could have told Booth this information. Instead the FBI agent had called her back from vacation, tempting her with conspiracy theories that would have made Jack Hodgins smile with glee.

Duped.

But why? Did Booth have to be so much in control that he wouldn't let her enjoy the rest of her vacation in peace?

Temperance drew away from the window and began to pack her things up for the day, shutting down her computer and sliding her laptop back in its travel bag. She couldn't figure this puzzle out. Why did he want her back early? It was obvious he did. Even to Booth's untrained eyes, the remains must have looked fairly normal. Instead, he called her, prodding her curiosity in ways that he knew would prompt her to change her plans.

Not that she was having such a great time in Barbados by herself. Not that she wasn't bored stiff…but still, she would have rather made the decision herself to come back early all on her own, with no help from the FBI peanut gallery.

Instead, here she was. She walked to her office door and turned off the light. The man she had to trust to watch her back every

time she left the safety of the Jeffersonian and lied to her. Twice. It didn't matter to her that the first time he had no choice in the matter. What mattered was that he didn't act like he felt the deception was a big deal. No wonder Booth didn't have any qualms about lying to her again.

Brennan shook her head as she headed down the hall to the elevator, passing the new guy on the way. "Good night, Sidney," she called to the new intern before leaving.

"Night, Dr. Brennan."

Temperance sighed. Zack's deception and now Booth's had rattled the three things she counted on most in life: logic, rationality, and truth. At the present, she didn't know who to believe.

* * *

"You said yourself that psychology is a soft science."

She sent the young doctor a death glare fitting of Darth Vader.

Sweets cleared his throat, refusing to let the anthropologist get the upper hand. To be sure, he had been perplexed when Dr. Brennan called his office this morning and requested to see him. She made only two stipulations. One – that everything remain confidential. Sweets could relay nothing she was going to tell him to anyone, in any way, shape, or form. Two – she be allowed to come alone, sans her partner.

To have one of the dynamic duo _volunteer_ to come to his office to talk was a milestone. Sweets had no trouble assuring Dr. Brennan that it was fine to come alone and certainly anything she told him would remain in strictest confidence.

"You mean you can't give me a reason why Booth lied to me? Continues to lie to me?" Temperance countered, her eyes still pinning the man to his genuine pleather office chair.

Sweets nervously cleared his throat. "Technically, Dr. Brennan, _no one_ lied to you when Booth was presumed dead."

"Omission counts as a falsehood. You deliberately _didn't_ tell me Booth wasn't dead."

The psychologist shifted uncomfortably. "National security, Dr. Brennan. You, more than anyone else I know, possess the ability to compartmentalize. I knew you could continue to effectively do your job and keep Booth's presumed 'death' from affecting your work. The fewer the people that knew that he was still alive, the easier it would be to catch a killer."

If the Pentagon could somehow power lasers with Temperance Brennan's glare at that point, defense spending would plummet. All the energy they needed was right there. Sweets felt the angry heat of her glower and could have sworn it was strong enough to push his office chair across the room and him out the window.

And then she did something Sweets did not expect.

She lowered her gaze and her shoulders slumped. "So it was sacrificing the needs of one on the altar of the needs of many."

Was that a crack in her voice? Or just a slight tonal variation as one of her hands covered her mouth?

This was a side of Dr. Brennan Sweets had never seen. For a split second the self-assured woman that held three doctorates and several black belts was gone. In her place was a woman that was now dealing with the truthfulness – or lying ability – of the man she had to trust with her own safety. Not to mention the havoc his deception had done to their relationship. Sweets' eyes widened as the ramifications of the last three months hit him:

Brennan was redefining her relationship with the FBI agent. The trickery had rocked their professional connection for sure. But she was taking it harder on a _personal_ level. Just partners, his ass. Sweets would bet his psychology license that Temperance was in love with her partner. And for that reason, she _couldn't_ compartmentalize Booth or handle his deceptions. Sweets would have to proceed with extreme caution.

"Dr. Brennan, I am truly sorry," Sweets began in a soft voice. "If I had known it would affect you so much, I would have told you from the beginning that Booth was faking his death – and why he had to do it. I just thought…"

"You thought like everyone else. I have emotions, but I can set them aside. Deal with them when it's convenient but otherwise not let it bother me. Do my work and keep my feelings out of it. Yeah, I get it. My background makes me an ideal candidate…" She swallowed hard.

"He manipulated me. Booth manipulated me and both situations. _He_ could have found some way to tell me he was alive. It didn't have to be your choice. It shouldn't have been your choice. It was _Booth's_ choice. And he made his decision. He didn't tell me, he just showed up alive at his own funeral and made light of the whole situation.

"Then he tricked me into coming home early from vacation – vacation I was using to try to work through his faked-death-and-not-telling-me issue. He asked me to come home to work with a set of remains he _knew_ had nothing abnormal about them."

A sigh of frustration ended her tirade, followed by a long moment of silence as she shook her head and now Sweets returned her Darth Vader glare with one of his own.

"Did Booth really trick you into coming home early, or did you allow yourself to be manipulated, Dr. Brennan?"

Ouch. The kid might be young, be he could do his job well. Sweets had asked the real question that she had been wrestling with. Temperance's hand covered her face again.

"I allowed it," she admitted in a low voice. "I allowed it. I know allowed him to do this to me. My question is why?"


	7. Those Little Voices

**Chapter Seven**

**That Little Voice in the Back of Your Head**

She was quiet. Too quiet.

Ever since Bones had gotten back from her "vacation," she had been too quiet. Not that she didn't talk. She did. She just didn't _say_ anything. At least nothing that didn't pertain to bones. She had taken one look at the remains found at the construction site, sighed, and gave him a long, hard glare.

"A first year-grad student could have told you that this John Doe died as a result of a fall. Not blunt force injuries. Not a stabbing or a shooting." Then she had turned on her heel and headed back for her office.

And Booth really hadn't gotten a lot out of her since.

To say he was concerned was putting his state of mind mildly. It wasn't like Bones to keep her own counsel. At least not with him. He had tried to reach out to her. Pie at the diner? No. Dinner at Wong Foo's? She was too busy. For a while Booth figured she was just pissed because she came back from Barbados a few days early.

A week passed. Then two. A few trips out in the field, and still not a whole lot out of her that didn't pertain to a case and some bones. The silences between them were stretching out for longer and longer periods and these were _lonely_ silences. Not the comforting quiet that they had known before between them – the kind where even though there isn't a whole lot to say, they both knew that subconsciously they were still communicating…thinking…hashing things over. These silences were nearly deafening. These were the I'm-not-talking-to-you-because-I-really-don't-want-to deadly silences.

She wasn't talking to him because she didn't want to. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. No wait, maybe that wasn't true. Booth was far too perceptive of human nature and body language to swallow that. She wasn't talking to him because on some level, she was _angry_ at him.

But for what? A shortened vacation? Even that didn't make sense.

"What's the matter with you?" he finally blurted out one afternoon when they were driving from the scene of a new case back to the Jeffersonian.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Booth paused to adjust his sunglasses and his attitude. If he was snippy with her, she'd clam back up on him. "I mean," he continued in a softer tone, "you haven't really had a whole lot to say since you came back from vacation."

"Booth, what do you want me to say? I came back early for nothing, really. Am I supposed to be happy about that?"

He waited a beat as he turned the corner. "But you were gone nearly three weeks…"

"Actually, it was more like two."

"Still. That's a week longer than I get."

Anger rippled through her like a living thing. Deception, deceit, and now this condescending attitude. "Did you think you were doing me a favor?" Icicles dripped from her words.

And hit him in the chest. She really _was_ mad that he had talked her into coming home early. "You didn't have to come, you know," he growled out in a low tone. If she could be mad, so could he.

"I beg your pardon?"

A green light edged out to yellow and then red as Booth slowed to a stop and turned slightly to face his partner. "I said, you didn't have to come, you know? You didn't _have_ to leave Barbados early. You could have just told me to work with Jack and Sidney and you'd see me in two more weeks."

Another ripple of anger. Temperance felt a flush build from her breasts up through her neck and finally hit her checks. "And you didn't have to lie," she bit out.

"I didn't lie."

"The hell you didn't. You told me if there was anything suspicious about those bones, you wanted me on the case."

Booth shifted uncomfortably and glanced back toward the traffic signal as Bones' anger reached its tentacles out for him and squeezed his conscience. The red light glared back at him like an evil eye. He was fully convinced that this was the longest red light in Washington, DC, and made a mental note to contact the DC Division of Traffic and Safety on the FBI's behalf. "I did?"

If backed into a corner by a woman who is obviously smarter than you are, plead ignorance.

"You did." Temperance took a deep breath and calmed herself before continuing. "Cam said there was nothing abnormal about the bones. You yourself said the find looked recent."

"I said I didn't know for sure…"

She gave him a hall-of-fame eye roll before continuing again, this time in a still lower voice. "You know enough by now that you can tell if the remains are fairly recent or old. You also can tell if there's foul play. The light's green, Booth." Temperance nodded towards the now unoffending traffic signal.

Booth sputtered for a moment as he accelerated through the intersection and pulled into the Jeffersonian's parking lot, cursing her ability to stay focused, carry on an argument, and be aware of her surroundings. He could do all that, too…just not when she was around…and not when they were fighting.

Fighting. They were fighting, right? His gut said yes. His head told him that he didn't like it. His heart told him it would be a smart thing to smooth things over fast. "But you're the bone expert, Bones. I value your opinion." He pulled his shades off and flashed a charm smile at her.

There was that ripple again. Temperance quickly pressed the release on her seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Maybe….just maybe you should value the truth more," she retorted before she slammed the car door and stalked inside the Jeffersonian.

Alone.

* * *

He hadn't followed her in. As a matter of fact, he had throw his SUV in reverse and made it back to the FBI building in record time. He had a desk full of paperwork facing him. This seemed like a good afternoon to get to it.

Except for the fact that his attention was elsewhere. As a matter of fact, his mind was about a half a mile away in another colossal brick building. Mentally he could picture her there, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, blue lab coat buttoned down her front, her eyes peering at the remains on her table, and her mind totally wrapped up in this new case.

She always called him when she had answers. Booth checked his cell phone again. Nothing. But of course, they hadn't been called out into the field until after lunch. Most likely she wouldn't have answers until mid-day tomorrow. And after their little fight in the car, he was pretty sure she wouldn't be calling before then.

_Little fight?_ Those tentacles squeezed his conscience again and the voice in his head sounded a whole lot like Angela. _Don't fool yourself, Booth. It was an argument. A full-out, in-your-face argument_.

Okay. It was an argument. A fight. A big one. Another squeeze. _She's mad._

No, Booth corrected. She's pissed. She's jumped right over mad and angry to pissed.

_Okay, _his conscience corrected itself again. _She's pissed. What are you going to do about it?_

I don't know.

Another squeeze. This one was a little harder. Hard enough that Booth felt the pressure behind his eyes._ Yes, you do._

I do?

Squeeze. _Don't play dumb with me, Seely Booth. _It was definitely Angela's voice._ I've known you too long_. _You're going to have to apologize._

For what? Wanting to be sure all my bases were covered on a case?

_You. Are. An. Idiot. First class, A-rated dumb ass. If you think she's mad at you for interrupting her vacation, think again. If she didn't really want to come back early, she would have told you to shove it._

Then why's she so mad at me?

_Jesus. Can you be so stupid?_

Enlighten me.

_You lied to her. On purpose. Twice. Outright lied. Deceived, duped…_

Okay. I get it.

_What are you going to do about it?_

Daffodils?

_Nope. Flowers ain't gonna cut it, Big Boy._

Dinner?

_You really think she'll go out with you now?_

Booth rubbed his face. Apologize?

_Bingo! You can be taught! And I suggest on both knees…_


	8. Ignorance is not Bliss

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Ignorance Is Not Bliss**

The hot, humid Washington afternoon melted into an equally hot and sticky Washington evening. Phones rang. Voices answered. Computers bleeped and sputtered and spit out volumes of information. The gear wheels of the FBI churned as normal, grinding out wanted information about supposed terrorists and criminals and claiming victories for justice.

However, the mountain of paperwork on Booth's desk didn't grow any smaller as the afternoon yielded to night. The rest of the world may have had a productive day, but his attention wasn't focused on his work. A tall, slender woman with auburn hair was in his mind, front and center.

And for once, Booth was worried about what he was going to say to her. Angela's voice had stopped speaking to him and he was worried that if he didn't say something, do something, Bones would follow suit. He let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his desk chair, spinning it around to look outside the window. Stars winked at him in return.

_Starlight, star bright…first star I see tonight…_

_I wish I may, I wish I might…_

Parker's nursery rhyme hung in his head. Wishing wasn't going to get him out of this one. Neither was his charm smile. Neither was avoiding the situation and pretending like nothing was wrong. He had to talk to her. Explain it. Explain himself. Determinedly he stood and grabbed his jacket. A talk was in order.

* * *

"Hi."

That seemed like a good place to start. Her parking space had been empty at the Jeffersonian and the lights were turned off in her office. That meant his long trek of penitence must begin at her apartment.

"Hi." She had never looked better in sweats and a tank top, her hair still slightly damp and curly from a shower. "What brings you here? I still don't have any answers about that case from today…"

"This isn't about the case." Booth looked away. He was still having trouble meeting her eyes. "Can I come in?"

Temperance looked him over warily. She wasn't ready for round two of any argument. Truth be known, her anger had been right beside her all day. She had stifled it, filed it away, _compartmentalized _it until after she had done all she could do with the remains and went home.

And it was still there, just simmering under her skin. But Booth looked determined. She knew that even if she said no, he'd barge right in anyway. Hauling in a deep breath, she stood aside. "Sure. Come on in."

The trek now took him to the center of her living room, where he paused to glance at her. Without the offer of Thai food for dinner or parlayed discussions of cases, Booth nearly felt naked as she was still warily watching him from the doorway.

"I need to talk to you," he began.

A nod. "Okay. Talk."

"I need to explain myself. I need to... I need to…apologize."

A stiffened spine joined her wary gaze. "Oh."

She wasn't making this easy. Booth had apologized to superiors, his parents, Rebecca, and even Parker, but somehow there was even more on the line here. He swallowed nervously. "Won't you sit down?" Somehow the thought of having her not at eye level would be less threatening.

For a moment he was sure she was either going to stay standing or simply open the door to usher him out. Instead Bones paused and then took a seat on the edge of the couch.

"I'm sorry, Bones. I'm sorry I lied to you and conned you into cutting your vacation short. I knew…I did know that those remains seemed pretty standard stuff."

"Then why'd you lie?"

Damn those blue eyes. If she'd just have asked without looking up at him, Booth could have explained his way out of it. Instead he found himself awash in a sea of blue confusion.

"I didn't _exactly_ lie. The bones looked pretty normal. I didn't know for sure. No one would know for sure…."

"No one except a forensic anthropologist. Or a first year grad student in that field."

Booth's shoulders sagged. "Yeah."

"So Sidney could have worked the case for you. I didn't have to come back early from Barbados."

Booth nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. "No," he sighed. "You didn't have to come back early."

She paused, looking down at her hands she had clasped between her knees. Silence. It was as quiet in her apartment as it had been in the SUV all week. Temperance ran one hand over the other as she willed her logic down and let her emotions run with this one. Sweets had been right. She had let herself be manipulated. And now she knew why. She had really known all along, she just was too afraid to put a name to it.

"Then why'd you ask me to come back?" It came out in a small voice. Much quieter than she had intended.

Booth rolled that thought around for a minute, one hand worrying the back of his neck. "Because I wanted your expertise…"

"You didn't need expertise in this case."

More neck rubbing. "Because if there _was_ anything weird…"

"There was nothing weird. And you _knew_ that."

Booth's hand went from his neck to his hips as he momentarily rebelled under her interrogation. Exasperation leeched from every pore of his body. "Bones…"

"Why Booth? I cut my vacation short for you. I think I deserve to know why. I think you _owe_ that to me."

"Because…because…" Booth groaned and joined her on the couch, his head lolling on the back, one hand covering his eyes.

He wouldn't admit it. For all his talk about him being a heart person and her being a head person, he wouldn't admit it. Temperance felt the anger begin a slow boil under her skin. Well if he couldn't be man enough to admit the real status of their relationship and erase the damn line, maybe she'd just have to man up herself. She pulled herself to her feet and walked to the other side of the room to look out the window, her back to him. Space. If she was going to do this, she needed space.

"You know, I missed you," she said quietly.

The hand came down from his eyes. "You did?"

She nodded, aware that now she had his attention and he was staring at the back of her head. "I did. It was the hardest two weeks of my life."

A soft chuckle. "And I assumed you were living la vida loca in the islands."

She turned then, her sharp stare nailing him to the couch – those same lasers that had made Sweets incredibly uncomfortable were now doing the same to him. "That's not what I'm talking about."

The paradigm shifted. Booth felt his world rock off balance and all the air be sucked out of the room. "Then wha…"

"Your death. Your _supposed _death," was the gritty interruption. "Do you have _any_ idea what that did to me?"

"Sweets was supposed to tell you…" That sounded lame now, even to him.

"This is not about what Sweets did or didn't do. It wasn't his place or real responsibility to make sure I knew you were faking it."

"But…"

"It was yours, Seeley Booth. You should have made sure I knew that you were alive and breathing and holed up in some damn hotel room ordering room service and watching pay per view until your _funera_l_,_" she spat out. "Yours. Your responsibility."

"But Bones…"

"And you didn't. After three years, you cared so little about how I felt that you just assumed some psychologist with the maturity of a twelve year-old would make sure that I knew you weren't dead. Thank you for caring so damn much."

Her anger had reached full boil then. And he knew it.

God, did he know it. Her eyes and cheeks were blazing. Her hands were clenched into tight fists. She was pissed.

"Bones, I'm sorry." Booth took a deep breath and stood from the couch, walking over to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't think Sweets would wuss out on me like that. I just assumed…"

"Just like you assumed I'd come back early from vacation when you crooked your finger and beckoned."

A slow nod and a hard swallow. "Yeah…"

Followed by a long beat of silence.

"I should pretty much hate you. You played me. You know that, don't you?"

Another nod. This time followed by a long sigh. _Her_ sigh.

"But I can't. For the life of me Booth, I should be furious. I am angry, but not at you." Turning slightly from him, she rubbed the side of her aching head. "I'm mainly mad at me."

"You? Why?"

She glanced back at him. "You don't get it, do you?"

Booth shook his head. Bones was all over the emotional map with this one, a side of her he hadn't seen. "No…"

"It's simple. Ever since I was fifteen I've told myself that I'm the only person I can depend on. The only person I really needed. Just me. And suddenly you come along with your belt buckles and socks and heart and emotions and pull me out of that. Then you go off and _die_ on me when I'm depending on you to be there."

"I'm sorry…"

"You said you'd always be there. For me." She paused, trying to get her emotions back in check.

And failed. "You lied." Her voice cracked. "I don't think I can trust you anymore."

"Bones…" His conscience had been wrong. Apologizing was not going to cut it. But he tried anyway. "I am sorry."

"I am, too. Sorry that I've stopped depending solely on myself. Sorry that I trusted you. Sorry that I let myself be manipulated by someone who is so caviler about what I feel."

Damn. "I'm sorry, Temperance. I really, truly am. Honestly. Please…will you look at me?"

Brown met blue, the blue a bit moister.

"Look, I am sorry. I did think Sweets would tell you. If I had known that he wouldn't, I would have found someway to tell you. And I'm sorry that I tricked you into cutting your vacation short. It won't happen again, I promise. Can't we," he paused to take her hands, "can't we just start over again? Like this never happened?"

"Start over?"

Booth nodded. "Fresh. Beginning tomorrow. No, beginning now. I promise I won't die on you again and no more phone calls during vacation."

"Fresh?"

"Yeah. And you can promise never to let yourself be conned by me again." His charm smile now reached epic proportions.

Temperance sighed. He still didn't get it. She had just laid everything out there for him and he didn't take it. Defeated, she shrugged her shoulders. "Fine. Start fresh. Makes sense to me."

"Good." The gloominess rolled off his back. "You won't regret it." He paced to the door like a new man. "G'night, Bones. See you tomorrow. Don't forget to lock the door."

And then he was gone. She snibbed the lock and leaned back against the wall. He knew she had been angry, at him and herself. He knew she had missed him and now depended on him. Which meant he would follow her around even more closely. A bubble of mirthless laughter escaped her. He still didn't realize the most important thing.

She couldn't live without him.


End file.
